


Familiar

by greywardenblue



Series: Playing with Dead Things [3]
Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-18
Updated: 2017-10-18
Packaged: 2019-01-19 00:57:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12399816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greywardenblue/pseuds/greywardenblue
Summary: Edge visits Count Lucio's room and meets his ghost for the second time, hoping to find answers about that fateful night... but the memories he discovers are not the ones he was looking for.





	Familiar

“Uh… hello? Count Lucio, sir?”

Edge didn’t technically confirm last time that the ghost he’d seen was Count Lucio’s, but it was a strong assumption.

This time, he could see no goat-headed figure, and yet he could feel in every inch of his being that he wasn’t alone in the room.

“You came back.”

The voice came from behind him, but he didn’t need to turn around to know he would see nothing there.

“I did, yes. I was hoping to talk to you.”

There was a laugh, a raspy sound, like the voice of someone who hadn’t used it in a while. Edge took a deep breath to control himself as a shiver ran down his spine. Despite the situation, he felt an eerie sense of calmness instead of fear.

“Why don’t you take a seat.”

It didn’t sound like a question, and it was easy to tell the owner of the voice was mocking him.

Edge sat down on the side of the bed, still covered in ashes, and took out his notes.

“I was hoping to ask you about the circumstances of your death.”

The temperature in the room seemed to drop drastically in just a few seconds. Edge fiddled with his quill, still almost nonchalant.

Suddenly, Edge could feel radiant red eyes peering into his soul - he wasn’t seeing them with his eyes, but in his mind, and yet there was no mistaking they were real. He concentrated on his breathing to keep it steady.

“A dreadful topic.”

Edge licked his lips, feeling strangely dry.

“I agree… I understand it can’t be easy to relive… I mean, to…”

Another bark of laughter, louder than last time. Edge glanced down at his notes. He didn’t feel scared, but then again, he’d remembered… he thought he remembered someone saying he lacked a healthy fear of death. Who could have said that…?

 _Focus, Edge_.

“I understand it can’t be easy to talk about, but I’m sure you’d also be relieved if the one responsible for it was caught after all this time. Thus, anything you can tell me about the circumstances, or well, the identity of the…” He struggled to avoid the words  _murderer_  or  _killer,_ knowing they were likely to upset a ghost with a violent death. In a way, he was more considerate of these people than the living - he’d almost never danced around words like this otherwise.

His words caught in his throat, and it took him a few seconds to understand why. There was a pressing feeling against his chest, like somebody’s palm was attempting to push him back on the bed.

“Such dreadful topic,” the voice drawled. Edge blinked. The pressing wasn’t strong enough to move him, but the intent was clear enough. Without thinking much about it, he lay back on the bed. “I thought you’d looked familiar. I remember now. The medic’s assistant, aren’t you? The pretty one.”

Edge struggled to remember this medic the other man meant, but came up with nothing. 

“Uh…”

The ghost didn’t seem to be expecting an answer. He chuckled, and suddenly Edge felt the cold sensation of metal against his neck, lightly caressing and yet somehow threatening. Edge remembered the golden arm with the claws on the painting.

He held his breath, eyes wide.

“I do remember,” the voice drawled again, almost… surprised? “Oh, it’s good to see a familiar face. I have missed my admirers…”

Edge stared at the ceiling, struggling to remember. The metallic sensation travelled from his neck down his arm, down his side, and for the first time since he entered the room he could feel his breath getting heavier with no way to control it.

His eyes saw nothing in the room, so he closed them. He felt hot breath tickling against his ear. It should have felt terrifying, lying in an ash-covered bed so close to the ghost of the feared Count, and yet instead it felt… _familiar_.

There weren’t many things in this world that felt familiar, since he woke up in the white-haired magician’s arms with no memory of his past.

So he sank into the dark pillows with no regard to his outfit.

The cold hand tickled against his skin, and the voice seemed to be humming a tune that Edge thought he knew, once upon a time. He felt almost asleep, as if in a dream.

It was a loud bark that brought him back to reality, and at first he wasn’t sure if it came from the hallway or through the window. He struggled to control his breathing and sat up in the bed.

There was no movement, no sound. Only the ashes.


End file.
